


Kind, Sober, and Fully Dressed

by museicalitea



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) References, Cufflinks, Injury Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shirt Porn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museicalitea/pseuds/museicalitea
Summary: “Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying this.” Otabek catches both his hands under Leo’s shirt and makes him gasp, and Leo can feel his smile, spreading wide and unrestrained, rare and precious like the splinter of glimmering gemstones in sturdy rock. “Let me take care of you tonight.”“You always take care of me, Beka.”The night of the Worlds banquet, Leo has a sprained ankle, an overprotective boyfriend, no alcohol in his system, and athingfor Otabek's cufflinks that Otabek really,reallywasn't supposed to know about.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Leo de la Iglesia
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Kind, Sober, and Fully Dressed

Three steps away from his hotel room, Leo hisses through his teeth, and Otabek’s hand tightens where it’s supporting his side.

“Are you alright?”

“It’s fine,” says Leo, through the throb of his ankle protesting the long walk from the elevators down to his room. “I’m fine, Beka, really.”

Otabek’s brow pinches at that, but he taps Leo’s room card to the lock and holds open the door for him to limp through. It’s only a few more steps to the bed, and Leo grits his teeth through the pain right until he’s close enough to collapse on the mattress with a  _ thunk. _

“Finally,” he sighs, and he hears Otabek laugh as the door clicks shut and the lights come on.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m cool, Beka. Just a longer walk than I thought it would be.” 

Being at the end of the long hallway wasn’t such a bad thing five days ago when he got here for Worlds; but it’s inconvenient when his ankle is protesting after getting injured at the start of a very long day, and he sort of wishes they’d gone one more floor up to Otabek’s room, two doors away from the elevator. They totally could have worked their way around Otabek’s coach sharing the room; Leo may have a room to himself this year, but right now he isn’t sure if it’s worth the pain twisting up through his ankle.

“I should’ve just asked you for a piggyback.”

“I couldn’t have piggybacked you all the way up from the banquet.”

“You’ve carried me to bed before, you’re totally strong enough!”

“I can carry you from the couch to the bed when it’s in the next room. That’s not quite the same.”

“Ah, it’s fine. We made it.”

The throbbing dissipates at last, and Leo sits up so he can start unlacing his shoes.

“Here—”

Otabek approaches the edge of the bed, but pauses. “Do you want me to get the other one?”

Leo rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. Otabek is nothing if not ever the gentleman.

“Beka, I strained my ankle, not my back. I can get my own shoe. Tell you what, could you find me an ice pack? And maybe get the extra pillows on the bed.”

“Of course.”

Otabek turns immediately to head to the mini fridge, and Leo beams at his retreating back. “You’re an angel.”

His ankle doesn’t hurt so bad with his weight off it, but it’s still tender to the touch as he works his dress shoes off. One of the medics checked it over after his gala skate and said it wasn’t too swollen, and he knows it’s nothing more serious than a mild sprain from a bad fall he took during that morning’s practice—but even  _ mild sprains  _ don’t cope well with the force of landing a triple Lutz-triple loop combo, and Leo counts his lucky stars it didn’t give out over the rest of his routine.

Lucky or no, he doesn’t miss Otabek’s soft intake of breath when he peels off his sock and tugs up the leg of his pants to take a look at the damage. There is, as Phichit put it in the changing rooms at the rink, a  _ shit-ton _ of strapping tape keeping his ankle stable, but underneath, the bruising is already coming up, ugly purple and black.

“You skated on that,” murmurs Otabek, circling round to the end of the bed and sitting so carefully he doesn’t even jostle the mattress.

“This is nothing,” says Leo. “Guanghong skated on two sprained ankles at Four Continents and won that, and you should’ve seen—actually, you probably wouldn’t have wanted to see his feet after, it was bad. It’s okay with the tape, I’ve just been standing on it too long.”

Figure skating boots are stiff and stable, and with the tape limiting his motion and modifying his gala program to take out the toe stands, the actual skating wasn’t that bad. It’s just all the palaver of the  _ aftermath— _ heading up to a chat with one of the figure skating podcasts, signing autographs at the rink doors, heading all the way back to the hotel with a stop for bubble tea on the way, the banquet. Lots of standing; lots more walking. Leo has a reasonable pain tolerance, and can hide most things behind a smile, but an hour into the banquet even his smile was feeling tired.

Otabek hums, a soft sound of agreement, and holds up the ice pack. “I looked for a towel, but all we have are the hotel ones, and they’re too big.”

“Use my gym t-shirt,” says Leo, and Otabek’s face crinkles into a proper frown.

“Won’t that be sweaty?”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine… I probably have another t-shirt in my bag.” He casts his mind back to packing, a five-minute exercise in tossing clothes from his drawers to his suitcase to be rolled up later. “Might be one of my concert tees?”

Otabek takes the ice pack down to the suitcase with him, while Leo takes the opportunity to divest himself of his suit jacket and loosen his tie. He also moves further up the bed and keeps his ankle elevated as best he can while he stacks pillows at the headboard, but he almost falls into his neat stack when Otabek makes an unholy noise behind him. Leo turns back to see Otabek holding up a black t-shirt, with its bold white baseball-style logo proclaiming  _ Vegas, Baby! _

“Why do you have this?”

Leo shrugs. “US Nationals were in Vegas a couple years back.”

Otabek makes another very strange, defeated noise. “Vegas, baby?”

“Babe: it’s  _ Vegas, baby! _ You gotta say it with the exclamation mark.”

“I don’t want to say an exclamation mark for Vegas.”

“—baby.”

Otabek closes his eyes very hard and Leo laughs; but at last, Otabek does wrap the ice pack in the t-shirt, with  _ Vegas, Baby! _ pointedly on the inside. He sits on the edge of the bed again, right where Leo’s stretched his ankle out, but he lays the ice on the comforter and instead, with tender, gentle fingers, cradles Leo’s ankle in his hands; looking it over as though reassuring himself it won’t fall apart overnight.

At last, his eyes relax, and he gives Leo’s shin a careful squeeze before lowering his foot back to the bed and laying the ice on it.

“Should I hang your jacket up?”

“Ah, yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” says Leo, bundling up the jacket and lobbing it to Otabek at the other end of the bed. It makes it most of the way. Otabek picks it up and shakes it out pointedly, but pauses and fishes around in one pocket, and then the other.

“You might want this,” he says, pulling Leo’s phone from the left-hand pocket and handing it over. Leo double taps the screen and raises an eyebrow.

“Nine-forty… wow. This is like, normal bedtime.”

Otabek turns back from the closet hangers. “Only nine-forty?”

“Yeah.”

A message pings through from Guanghong; then another, and then another. They turn out to be a series of photos, with more coming through as Otabek heads into the bathroom: a shot of several junior skaters chatting with Emil, still almost taller than them all even crouched down; another of Yuri Plisetsky and Phichit having what looks like a dance-off; a selfie of Guanghong with the caption  _ I still haven’t found the pole yet, I think Phichit was lying when he said Chris keeps it in his bag. _

_ He absolutely was not lying I KNOW it’s in there, _ Leo types back. Chris may be a coach now, but Leo doesn’t for a second believe this means he’s any less likely to do a banquet pole dance on a whim,  _ especially _ when he’s half a bottle into the champagne.  _ Look harder! _

_ maybe i’ll bring my own next time, _ types Guanghong accompanied by a selfie of a well-practised pout. Leo’s stomach drops. Surely Guanghong wasn’t thinking of going on it. He’s still recovering from that stunt he pulled at Four Continents; the only reason he’s at Worlds is that he booked his flights six months in advance and didn’t want to miss out on the fun, even if he can’t skate.

**_To: Guanghong ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ_ ** _   
_ _ wait til ur not on crutches b4 you start learning how to use a pole _ _   
_ _ pls i’m begging you _

While Guanghong’s typing his reply, Leo flicks through his other messages from his family and his friends at the rink back home, and switches over to start going through his own photos. He kept a good record of the sights and behind-the-scenes candids right through the competition where he could, but there’s a chunk of time missing from gala rehearsal; unfortunately, it’s very hard taking interesting photos when you’re squirrelled away on a medical cot with people probing at your ankle and a concerned boyfriend sticking his head in every five minutes.

It sort of sucks, because he had this whole plan for the spread he’d use for his Instagram post on Worlds; but the rest of his shots are good, and he supposes he can ask Phichit to lend him a photo to fill in that gap.

The bathroom door clicks open and Leo hears Otabek fill up the kettle and the tell-tale  _ click _ of him switching it on. He’s still fully clothed saved his jacket and his shoes, and is tucking in his shirt when he rounds the corner, and it’s so absurd given neither of them has anyone they need to impress for the rest of the night that Leo laughs out loud.

“Is something happening downstairs?” Otabek asks, walking over to the small closet rail and starting to loosen his tie.

Leo shakes his head and gestures at the two of them. “Just look at us: we’re like, young and hot and at the peak of our careers and it’s nine-fifty and we’re both still sober and getting ready for bed.”

Otabek looks confused. “Sober? You were drinking champagne.”

“I was  _ holding _ champagne. Alcohol and Tramadol don’t exactly mix.”

Otabek pauses in the middle of loosening his tie and stares.

“You’re taking Tramadol?” he says, voice tight in alarm. “Is it that bad—Leo, why didn’t you tell me—?”

“Babe, babe!” Leo raises his hands and backs them down until Otabek’s hands lose their rigidity and his shoulders slacken. “I’m just on ibuprofen right now, but believe me, I don’t wanna have to wait twelve hours if my ankle gets worse and I gotta take Tramadol all of a sudden. I drank half a glass over like, two hours and tipped the rest into a pot plant.”

“Ohhh.” A familiar, concerned crinkle fades from Otabek’s forehead as he works the rest of his tie loose, and Leo sighs in relief. “That’s smart. I should do that next time.”

Leo eyes up the next photo on his camera roll. “You were holding champagne too.”

“I gave it to Yuri,” says Otabek. “One of my DJ friends said he might be around tonight and I thought I shouldn’t have anything to drink if I was going to drive off to a club.”

“Oh.” This is the first Leo’s heard of this, but he guesses he should have expected it; Otabek’s friend circles are small, but stretch out to what feels like every country in the world. It isn’t uncommon for him to head off to a club or a bar halfway through the gala when he’s had enough of talking to strangers, and most times, Leo’s happy to wave him off. But since they started dating,  _ after the banquet _ at the competitions they've shared in the interim has been taken up with other activities, and the DJing all but slipped his mind. “So… are you going?”

Otabek shakes his head. “He changed his plans. Texted me an hour ago. I didn’t really feel like drinking after that.”

“That sucks, dude.”

“I have something lined up for tomorrow night. I was going to invite you, but…” Otabek looks pointedly at Leo’s ankle, and Leo laughs.

“Yeah, I might need to take a raincheck on that. Hey, c’mere, tell me what you think. I like the lighting better on this one and it works better with the set, but Guanghong’s eyes are closed and we’re all doing a cooler pose in this one here.”

Otabek’s forehead crinkle returns, and Leo reaches up to ease it out as he leans in to take a better look.

“Put a filter on the pose one?” say Otabek after several seconds’ careful consideration. “A… you know, a brighter one. Not a unicorn one.”

“I could make them all unicorn ones. Look, this one of you with a unicorn horn would be so cute!”

“It would not,” says Otabek, but he sounds an awful lot like he’s biting back a smile, and Leo grins as he opens up a draft Instagram post and starts weighing up his filter options.

As he puts together his selection, however, something seems off about Otabek. He retrieves his own phone, but doesn’t notice the kettle boiling until Leo asks about it three minutes later. He puts his tea on to steep, but doesn’t drink it, just sits on the other bed looking out at the night-lit skyline and tapping about on his phone. He doesn’t even put music on, and that gets Leo’s attention. Even when Otabek is restless, there’s usually a song or two that settles him down.

Leo finally gets a response back from Phichit— _ sorry, yuri p dragged me into a dance off, creamed him haha, ooh lemme send some thru hold tight!!!!— _ and just as he adds one of the ten photos Phichit sends him to his Instagram lineup, Otabek starts to pull his shoes back on.

“Where are you going?” asks Leo.

“Just to my room. I need some things for the night,” Otabek says as he laces up his left shoe and stands. When he gets to the door, he reaches out to take the room card from its slot and pauses.

“Oh—wait—”

“I can let you back in.”

“But Leo, your ankle—”

“I can make it to the door. Go get your toothbrush.”

Otabek opens the door, but pauses in the doorway with a grimace. “I hope my coach isn’t back yet.”

Leo laughs in sympathy. Coaches get  _ way _ too invested in their personal lives sometimes. “I am so glad one of our juniors got to Worlds this year. Dude, you gotta get your coach to take another skater, it’s  _ life-changing _ when you don’t have to share a room anymore.”

“Maybe I’ll just ask to room with you next season. You can room with your choreographer, right?”

“You gotta pay me for my sweet moves first, babe!” Leo rolls his eyes and shoos Otabek out into the hallway. “Go on. Text me when you’re coming back down.”

Otabek pats around his pockets briefly, and then he’s out the door and Leo has room to think; because something  _ weird _ is going on.

Otabek doesn’t waffle around like this unless something’s bugging him. Leo recognises this from restless Sunday afternoons; the kind that usually end with him digging out Otabek’s motorcycle helmet and his keys and all but booting him out the door so he can ride off whatever weirdness he’s feeling that day. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to do that now—Otabek, as ever, has hired a large and intimidating bike that he and Yuri have been cruising around on between rink time almost non-stop for the last five days—but Leo, in truth, doesn’t want Otabek to go.

He shoves a hand through his hair and brings up his message thread with Guanghong again.

_ Beka’s acting weird what do i do _

_ bang him _

_ GUANGHONG _

_ WHAT _ _   
_ _ If you two bone then he’ll destress _

_ bone???????? _

_ it’s like science or something _

_ I regret letting you watch b99 _ _   
_ _ I regret letting phichit teach you the sex words _

_ :P _ _   
_ _ I could look up wha tthey are in spanish :D _

_ PLEASE DON’T I WILL LITERALLY DIE _ _   
_ _ U WILL HAVE A CORPSE FOR A BEST FRIEND _ _   
_ _ DO YOU WANT THAT _

_ do you mean youd be a zombie? _ _   
_ _ because leo ngl that sounds AMAZING _ _   
_ _ but i don’t want you to die boooo _

_ o(-< _ _   
_ _ i’m not just going to bang him _

Just then, a text comes through from Otabek.

_ I’ve got my things. Just getting in the elevator now. See you soon. O x _

Leo sends a quick  _ gotta go _ to Guanghong and extracts himself from the mound of pillows, wincing as something clicks in his back. Heading to the medics post-gala meant he didn’t get a chance to roll out or stretch out all the kinks before meeting Phichit and Guanghong to head back to the hotel, and he can already tell he’s going to be sore tomorrow. He tests his ankle on the carpet—twinging, but not unstable—and figures he can walk five feet to the door.

At the door, waiting for Otabek to knock, the renewed throb tells him it’s probably time he took more painkillers.

When he comes into the room, Otabek is holding two things: his backpack, neatly zipped up and in all likelihood neatly packed as well; and surprisingly, a foam roller.

Leo raises his eyebrows. “What’s that for?”

“Rolling out,” says Otabek, and if Leo’s eyebrows could reach the ceiling he’s sure they would. Otabek does daily stretches only under duress from his physio, his coach, and Leo himself, and is selectively bad at keeping up the rolling out regiment his physio recommended to ease up his hips. This is not the sort of thing he ever normally does on a banquet night.

Otabek, oblivious, starts to unpack his bag onto the spare bed: pyjamas, toothbrush, dental floss, underwear, leather jacket, his headphones. Leo, meanwhile, limps with as much grace as he can back over to his own bed, determined to bite the bullet and get to the crux of it all.

“What’s wrong, Beka?”

Otabek turns to look at him with a frown. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Babe, you have your roller with you. You don’t usually stretch out before bed.”

“Maybe I want to.”

“I mean… sure? But it’s the end of the season today. Is there something else going on?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine, Leo.”

Leo can tell that everything is decidedly  _ not _ fine, but he knows how to pick his battles. Otabek is good at deflecting. Leo is equally good at diversion tactics.

“Do you mind if I borrow that for two minutes, then?” he says, nodding at the roller. “I think mine’s back at the rink and I’ve got this niggle in my—”

“Leo? No! You need to rest, you can barely walk on your foot.”

Leo’s mind sweeps clear, like he’s released a sigh and everything inside him is lightened. So that’s it.

“I can roll out my  _ back _ without doing anything to my ankle.”

“You’re meant to be resting.”

“And you’re acting weird, Otabek. What’s up?”

“Nothing—”

“Otabek,” Leo says, fixing his gaze on Otabek until he finally, finally looks up. “What is it?”

Otabek’s whole body is tense, from the set of his eyes to his knuckles gripping a pair of sweatpants so tightly; and then it isn’t, and he sinks onto the far side of the other bed.

“I don’t want you to make it worse,” he says, his words fractured as his accent breaks through stronger. “You haven’t even had it scanned, you don’t know what it is, and I’m—”

“Beka.” His name slips out, and Leo sighs, the weight off his chest. “Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me,” he repeats, until Otabek turns and Leo can see that his eyes and the tip of his nose are redder than they should be.

“Hey. Aw, hey, come here,” Leo says, patting the bed next to him. Otabek hesitates, but gets up, at last, and crosses to sit next to Leo, and Leo wastes no time in catching him in a proper hug. It takes a minute of shuffling before they find a comfortable position, but eventually they end up with Otabek sitting with his legs draped over Leo’s, nestled comfortably somewhere between his chest and his side, and in the best spot for Leo to kiss him, should he choose to.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad, I promise,” Leo says, running his fingers across the silky roughage of Otabek’s fresh undercut. “I’ll rest it up for a week and then I’ll be back to normal, it’s  _ okay.” _

Otabek sighs, long and ragged against his chest, and Leo coaxes him in closer. He knows well by now the signs that Otabek is worried, worried in a way he doesn’t want to say, worried in a way he thinks he needs to hold back. Worried about him.

“I was scared,” says Otabek at last, quietly. His arms, loose around Leo’s waist, squeeze to hold him properly. “I was right near you on the ice and I  _ saw _ how you fell on the salchow. I’ve seen people break their ankles like that, and—I mean, you got up right away, but…”

The line between a bruise and a break hangs in the air between them, and Leo knows it well; knows it enough that Otabek won’t ever have to say it. He kisses the top of Otabek’s head, long and hard. “Says the man who’s dislocated his shoulder and shoved it back in mid-routine. _Twice._ _That_ was scary. I’m fine. If I didn’t think I could make it through I’d have sat out, you know that. It all worked out okay, babe.”

Otabek hums an unconvinced hum against his shoulder, and Leo reaches round to squeeze his clasped hands.

“What do I need to do to convince you I’m okay?” he asks, softly, and Otabek shakes his head.

“Nothing, Leo—I’m being silly.”

“You’re being concerned. That’s not silly. Beka—Beka, babe, look at me,” says Leo, and he doesn’t move until Otabek lifts his head from his sternum to look him in the eye. “I got through the gala, and my ankle’s going to be fine, and nothing really bad happened.”

“Tell me again when you don’t have all the strapping tape on,” says Otabek—but he’s smiling, and there’s no heaviness to his words, and Leo leans in to peck him on the lips.

“I will,” he promises, and Otabek leans his head in to draw out a longer kiss; one that lingers, their lips fractionally apart as they breathe in each other’s space again.

“You  _ did  _ look good out there,” says Otabek, and he sounds much more fond than upset, which Leo  _ absolutely _ counts as a win. “And you did  _ so _ well.”

“Uh-huh, says the silver medalist.”

“Seriously. You got bronze in the small medals and fifth place is top five.”

“Very astute observation.”

“I know you’re going to get on the Worlds podium. I can feel it.”

“Babe, I… I dunno.” Leo catches a bit of Otabek’s hair between his fingers and twists it, trying to tamp down the weird, uncomfortable feeling that springs up whenever he thinks about this. It isn’t something he discusses much with Otabek; or, really, with anyone else. “I’m really happy, don’t get me wrong, I know fifth is good, but… I dunno how many years I wanna compete. I’m not retiring yet, but I don’t exactly wanna go ‘til I’m thirty and my knees give out, either.”

“You’re not that old.”

“I’m a whole generation older than you, Gen Z.”

“I’m a millennial,” says Otabek, in the same sort of voice Guanghong uses to insist that he’s  _ baby, _ no matter that Leo and Phichit have reached a consensus that a person who avidly watches  _ The Godfather _ at least once a year cannot reasonably call themselves baby.

“Sure you are,” says Leo, teasing against his lips. “A whole entire millennial, right here.”

“I’ll show you who’s a millennial.”

“Literally me.”

A sigh issues from Otabek’s nose which tells Leo that he’s  _ definitely _ rolling his eyes, but he kisses him again, an olive branch, and Otabek’s arms squeeze again around his waist.

“You know, Leo, whatever you end up doing, you’re going to be great. People are going to remember you.”

“My claim to fame is gonna be if I choreograph something for every ice show running right now. That’s not something you get remembered for.”

“People will still get to see your choreography all over the world. They’ll get to see  _ you _ dancing on the ice. They’ll know you.”

“Mm-hm. Very likely.”

“I mean it. I can tell when you choreograph your own pieces. There’s something special in them.”

“Flatterer. You still gotta pay me if you want me to choreograph for you next season.”

“Pay you? Will—”

And suddenly Otabek’s mouth is right against Leo’s jaw, so warm it sends shivers up his spine.

“Will something like this do?”

Leo’s breath stops in his throat.

“Something like what?” he ventures, soft words ringing in the room and its silence. Down at his side, Otabek’s hands unlace, and one slips to caress his lower back. In measured, teasing strides, Otabek starts to move along his jaw, leaving a trail of kisses lingering like sticky honey, and his hand moves in circles, massaging and seeking until it lands on one spot, a tiny dip just above his coccyx, and Leo shudders with the rush of sweet endorphins. He can’t explain this tender spot; he only knows that it feels so unfathomably  _ good  _ when Otabek touches him there.

“Well,” Otabek breathes against his skin, moving just enough to straddle Leo’s hips, and catch his lips in the barest tease of a kiss, “I thought I could start with… what do you call it? Something to lock you in.”

“A downpayment?”

“A downpayment.” The spark flickers again in Otabek’s dark, steady gaze, those eyes closer to black than brown, and it shifts Leo off-balance, unsteady against the overwhelming feelings Otabek emanates at times like these. “I do want you to choreograph for me.”

“You do?” Leo laughs, still sort of in disbelief, near breathless. “You don’t have to seduce me first.”

“I know. But…” Otabek trails off and leans in closer. “Maybe I want to. Maybe I can’t take my eyes off you on the ice. Do you know how good you look out there?”

“Do you wanna look like me out there?”

“How about I show you what  _ you _ look like out there?” Otabek whispers against his throat. He raises every hair as his breath brushes by; Leo can feel his teeth, cool and smooth, and imagines how terrifying, how electrifying it would be to have those teeth drag against his skin.

“Whatcha want me to do, hot stuff?” His voice isn’t shaking yet, and Leo locks eyes with Otabek. “Can’t just let you have all the good parts, can I?”

“You,” Otabek says, catching his lips before Leo’s even finished his sentence, “can rest your ankle tonight.”

“Babe—oh—” He gets cut off as Otabek ventures further, deeper against him, as his tongue teases against his mouth and that pleasant warmth all converges, hones to a fine point, and he lunges forwards into Otabek’s warmth and his firm, chapped lips.  _ “God, _ let me finish a sentence for once, will you?”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying this.” Otabek catches both his hands under Leo’s shirt and makes him gasp, and Leo can feel his smile, spreading wide and unrestrained, rare and precious like the splinter of glimmering gemstones in sturdy rock. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

“You always take care of me, Beka.”

Leo says this without resentment, and without guilt; merely with the knowledge that Otabek may be younger than him, but there is so much  _ good _ he does for Leo, so much he gives, and he is maybe the only person Leo doesn’t have to look out for more than he takes.

Tonight, it is his acquiescence.

Otabek moves quicker, then; he trails his hands around Leo’s sides, cool over his stomach, and as Leo pulls him in closer, one hand splayed across the back of his head and the other clutching at his shoulder, there’s a light pressure at his breastbone. He breaks apart to heave in a breath and take a glance, and sees Otabek unbuttoning his shirt. He’s moving quickly, and Leo thinks: well, it’s not fair if Otabek’s the only one who gets to enjoy the view tonight.

“Yours too,” he manages through Otabek’s persistent kisses, and at last, after his own shirt gets worked off his shoulders and dropped to the floor beside the bed, Otabek pulls away and shifts himself off the bed.

Otabek has cufflinks in; actual, metal, honest-to-God cufflinks. Even if they’re at Worlds, it’s overkill; Leo doesn’t even own a pair of cufflinks, and the only times he’s seen other people wear them is at weddings, or special religious ceremonies, baptisms and first communions. But Otabek likes to dress smart, and cufflinks are on the menu for tonight.

Even Leo has to admit they’re really cool, for cufflinks: square, concave, etched with a musical stave and the opening notes to Beethoven’s Fifth; much more tasteful than the Hello Kitty ones he wore to the NHK Trophy banquet two years ago. The only issue with them—the reason Leo doesn’t bother—is that they take  _ forever _ to put in and take out.

But Otabek is a patient person, and standing beside the bed, intent on his task, Leo has time to just  _ admire _ him. His hair is coming loose from the hairspray that kept it locked back during his gala performance, and it flops over his forehead to half-obscure the crinkle in his brow which always comes out when he’s concentrating too hard. Leo wants to step up, and ease that crinkle down; massage out his forehead, that mind of his which is so strong, so calm under pressure, which has carried him through this whole competition without missing a beat. His hands look almost eerily still as they work each cufflink in turn, and his whole body looks poised for action.

As he works each cufflink free, one by one, he lays them on the side table. They glint where they catch the light.

Leo watches Otabek’s hands as he moves to unbuttoning his shirt, watches the fabric slip through his fingers like silk. The shirt folds open across his chest, and Otabek’s breath quickens. Leo’s breath quickens.

The pleasure simmers, tight and hot in his pants, and he leans back against the pillows, palming his cock. The flush is starting to rise in Otabek’s cheeks; he always gets flushed up when they have sex. It always comes in his cheeks first, painting the edge of his jaw dull red, and then it moves down his chest, spreads with his heartbeat across his body; Leo could come alone from the sight of Otabek’s cock so bright and red against his shaking pelvis, gleaming in the lamplight. 

With one swift  _ whis-catch, _ the last button comes undone. Otabek flings the shirt-tails to the side as he approaches the bed, and comes to kneel up over Leo’s legs, eyes lidded and dark, so dark. He wets his lips, and leans in; catches one hand against the headboard as he raises Leo’s chin with two fingers and presses a kiss gentle against his lips.

“You’re so good,” Otabek murmurs, his words electric sparks on Leo’s skin. “I want you to feel so good tonight. Let me—”

He kisses Leo again, like an inhale, strong as the beat of a wave caressing the shore, pausing like the tide reluctant to return to the sea.

“Just”—a kiss—“let me get this off, and then”—another kiss—“oh, Leo”—and another—“I’m going to show you just how well you did today.”

Leo’s breath comes out in hitches as Otabek sits back on his heels and starts to pull his shirt off. It slips over his shoulders, and something slips out of Leo’s mouth.

“Can you put it back on?”

Otabek freezes, and so does Leo.

“Put… what?”

Leo opens his mouth, but something gets caught in the back of his throat, and he can’t form the words. He didn’t mean for that to come out. Not in his guiltiest fantasies has he  _ ever _ imagined saying it out loud before Otabek.

Otabek shrugs the shirt back over his shoulders and moves until he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, facing Leo but not touching him, just a handspan away.

“Leo, is something wrong? Do you want to stop? I know you don’t always feel like sex and I promise, that’s okay, but you need to tell me—”

“No—no, no, no, Otabek, I do wanna have sex with you, I really, really do—”

Leo stops himself, takes a breath, and exhales all of it before he looks at Otabek again.

“That… came out weird.”

“Yes,” says Otabek, matter-of-fact as ever, and Leo laughs, and curls up his good leg close to drape his elbow over it.

“I didn’t mean it like  _ put your shirt on, I don’t want sex, I want everyone in this room to be kind, sober, and fully dressed—” _

“Well, you are very kind, and we’re not drunk, and we both still have our trousers on.”

“—title of your sex tape.”

“Huh?”

“Cop show, with the captain who texts like you. It’s—ah, it doesn’t matter.”

Otabek shifts closer and reaches out a hand across the comforter; an invitation, if Leo wants to take it. “Tell me.”

“I…” Leo swallows hard. He’s never had to put it in words before, and voicing this desire sounds strange, no matter how he tries to spin it in his head. “It’s—I want… crap…”

“Leo?”

He clutches the fabric of his trouser leg and steels himself to say it.

“I wanted you to put your shirt back on,” he says, finally, “so I could watch you undoing your cufflinks again. And…”

But all the heat goes to Leo’s face, and he presses a hand to his mouth, trying to stop the tiny, embarrassed noise that escapes his throat anyway.

Otabek is tight-strung again, poised where he sits. “Leo?”

He can’t bring himself to look at Otabek when he says it. “I want to watch you do it up. It—when you do up your shirt—with the buttons—”

_ To Hell with it. _

“It’s really hot.”

“Oh.” Otabek glances at the side table, and then back at Leo, and something alights in his eyes.  _ “Oh.” _

He rises from the bed. “Where do you want me to stand?”

Leo draws in a breath. His mouth is dry, and he feels like he missed something. Otabek is kind, and generous, but surely not this much.

It’s too good to be true, but Leo can’t bring himself to insist that Otabek  _ doesn’t have to do this. _ It’s selfish.

Sometimes, Leo wants to be selfish. If Otabek is offering, there’s nothing that will make him say  _ no. _

“Back a bit,” says Leo, and Otabek steps back, slow and cautious until he says, “Okay, that's good.”

The lamplight glow casts Otabek in burnished yellow, light enough that Leo can see every moment with crystal clarity. He starts in the middle, his anchor point. His navel is still visible, a dark happy trail leading tantalisingly down over his toned stomach into his suit trousers, and the shirt leaves nothing to the imagination up above, where his chest is firm and moving just a little heavier.

With careful, precise fingers, Otabek works his way down the shirt first. He lifts a hand and shoves it back through his hair, and the shirt lifts to expose just an inch of his side, teasing his hipbone and the skin covered in goosebumps beneath. Leo swallows, his mouth utterly dry. Even when he's not trying so hard, Otabek is captivating. When he wants attention, he commands it with every inch of his presence; he doesn't need height or bulk or even to say a word. He will walk into a room, and mean business, and people turn to watch him. People can't take their eyes off him on the ice for the same reason.

"Am I doing this the way you want?"

"Yeah. Keep… keep going."

Leo starts to rub his length again as Otabek moves up the shirt, coaxing up his pleasure in time with every catch of plastic against a buttonhole. There’s something about watching Otabek like this that feels voyeuristic, that feels like he’s not allowed, that he shouldn’t want this; all his vices with eyes fixed on him, dark and piercing and heavy with lust.

Slow as the descent of the night, Otabek reaches the top of the shirt. He leaves the top three buttons undone, and Leo draws in a breath at the view, the navy fabric stark against Otabek’s skin.

His cock is getting uncomfortable, straining against his underwear, and Leo moves to undo his trousers, keeping one hand rubbing his length through his clothes as Otabek picks up the cufflinks. Pants unzipped, he hooks his thumbs over the elastic of his boxer briefs to pull them down—and then Otabek is there, hands light over his wrists.

“Already?” he murmurs, and Leo feels the heat that floods his face as a whine escapes him.

“Beka, I need this—I’m— _ mmph— _ it’s so  _ tight.” _

Otabek rubs the inside of his wrist with his thumb, and Leo feels like he could keel over right here on the bed from the  _ want, _ the aching  _ need _ pulsing through his groin.

“Can you wait a little longer? I haven’t even got to the best bit,” he says, low and soft in Leo’s ear, and Leo has to will himself not to come in his pants like he’s sixteen again.

“How long, cause—babe, I’m not gonna last—”

“Not long, I promise,” says Otabek—and he sounds calm, so terrifyingly calm and composed where Leo is full to bursting, and yet there’s a bulge at his crotch, and a telling tantalising damp patch against the dove-grey wool.

Leo bites his lip and nods—but as Otabek climbs onto the bed and straddles him, less cautious, his cock throbs again just enough to jolt him forward, and he braces his feet on the bed to balance himself on instinct. His right ankle jolts, throbs, and the tears that spring unbidden behind his eyes aren’t from the pleasure.

“Babe— _ shit _ —babe, I need a minute,” he says—and just like that, Otabek lets go of his wrists, puts the cufflinks back on the bedside table and sits back on his heels, resting gentle over Leo’s thighs.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and Leo can’t help but smile, even as he brushes back the few tears that have escaped down his cheeks.

“Jolted my ankle. It’s okay, Beka, you didn’t do anything,” he says when Otabek’s face goes tight and concerned. “I can keep going.”

“Are you sure this isn’t going to hurt you?”

“Babe,” says Leo, reaching out to lace his fingers between Otabek’s. “Beka. I’ve just been sitting here while you put on a whole show for me. I’m okay for now.”

Otabek squeezes his hand, and the shadows in his brow ease out, but he still looks concerned. “What about… you know… what do you want to do?”

Leo chews the inside of his cheek and thinks.

“I don’t really know if you should go in me,” he says at last. “I didn’t clean out there earlier and I don’t wanna have another shower right now.”

“Okay,” says Otabek, and he really, unabashedly sounds like he means it. “That’s good to know. I—I mean—if you want—”

And then the flush starts to spread back up through his cheeks, and he trails off, looking at their hands. Leo raises an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Otabek swallows, the line of his throat sharp.

“Could I go down on you?”

Leo blinks, trying to puzzle it out. Otabek doesn’t usually give him head; he says it triggers his gag reflex too much. 

“I cleaned out there before, and if we use a condom…”

And then it clicks, and Leo’s cock tents right up in his pants.

“Babe,” he breathes—and then he reaches over to take Otabek’s hand in both of his, and to pull him from there into a breathless kiss. “Babe,  _ go for it.” _

Otabek leans back into him, kissing with a fervent hunger. One of his hands dips the mattress as he balances himself, and the other comes down to Leo’s length, broad and soft.

The touch is so new, so gentle and unexpected, that Leo’s control slips, and he makes one last grasp against Otabek’s lips before he lets himself go and comes.

_ “God,” _ he whispers, as Otabek keeps massaging his length.

“Oh, Leo,” he says, and Leo can hear the smile in his voice even through the rush in his ears as he rides out his orgasm, breathing heavily as the last rushes of it stutter themselves out in his pants and he breaks the kiss to lean into Otabek’s shoulder, high-strung and spent.

“Are you alright?” asks Otabek a few seconds later, and Leo nods against his shoulder.

“‘m good,” he manages, and venturing up again, he finds that he isn’t wrung out; it’s sticky in his pants and his brain is still caught up in the electric pleasure of the orgasm, but he isn’t exhausted or anything near that. He looks at Otabek, who is doing his best not to laugh, and thinks:  _ well, damn. _ He wants to kiss him again; he wants to bring Otabek to the brink just the same, because it’s been almost a month since they last had sex, and Leo feels  _ amazing. _

“I’m good,” he says, firmer this time. “I’m good to go again if you want.”

Otabek stares. “Are you sure?”

“I need a few minutes to clean up first, but… yeah.” He raises an eyebrow at the puzzlement on Otabek’s face. “What, you don’t think you’re hot enough to make me come twice?”

The bemusement melts into a smile, and Otabek sits back on his heels with a self-satisfied grin. “Challenge accepted.”

Leo eases out of his trousers and underwear and mops up as much cum as he can with tissues, while Otabek goes searching for lube, condoms, and an icepack to replace the one melting on the floor. When he gets back to the bed, Leo is acutely aware of how bare he is, spread across the duvet with nothing on save his small silver cross, while Otabek is still fully dressed. He’s shoved his sleeves up, and the sight of his bare, lithe forearms is enough to take Leo’s breath away.

If Otabek’s going to ride him, he really needs to lose some clothes, and  _ fast; _ Leo’s not sure how long he’ll last otherwise.

Thankfully, Otabek seems to have the same idea, because he gets halfway through unbuttoning his shirt before he pauses and looks up at Leo. “Oh—do you want me to keep going? I—I thought—”

“Take that the  _ fuck _ off, Otabek Altin,” says Leo, and the shudder like a static shock that runs over Otabek is the edge his pleasure needs to inch back. Otabek complies, and in seconds his shirt is on the floor and he lunges forward to kiss Leo’s lips.

Otabek tastes like strawberries and soft mahogany, something warm with the sharp edge of resin, heady as Leo breathes him in. He’s so close that Leo can feel his body heat from inches away, and feel the damp of perspiration on his back. He draws a finger up around Otabek’s side and feels him shiver under his touch.

“Lemme take a look at you,” he breathes when Otabek rises from the kiss at last, panting and glowing above him. His hair is fully loose now, and Leo reaches, in one fluid motion, to push it back and sit them both upright again. In the lamplight, his chest is flushed, almost the way his cheeks are deep scarlet from the exertion below his shining eyes. Leo strokes his hair back to settle it in place, eases out the last of the hairspray from the thick locks, and catches sight of Otabek’s happy trail running into his pants.

Leo really loves that happy trail.

“Lean back,” he says, cupping Otabek’s head in close with one hand, letting the other sneak down to tease through the soft curls over the base of his firm stomach.

“What? How—”

“Babe, trust me,” says Leo, pushing a little, supporting Otabek’s head all the way until he’s lying flat on his back, straddled over Leo's good leg. “I’m—”

He bends all the way down to press his lips to Otabek’s chest and grins.

“—pretty flexible.”

“Damn it,” Otabek says, the words a curl in the air as Leo works his way down his chest, pressing sultry kisses all along his salty skin and sinking into the soft hair when he gets there. There’s only the barest pull in his hamstrings, and Leo knows that if his muscles weren’t cold, he could get  _ so _ much further along.

But Otabek makes this  _ noise  _ after only a few seconds, and Leo knows it instantly as discomfort. Otabek is too proud to admit to being lesser at anything, and too modest to cite his own strengths out loud, but he doesn’t have anything near the flexibility Leo does to hold positions like this for very long.

So Leo makes the last moments count, and undoes Otabek’s fancy dress pants to nuzzle against his damp briefs before giving Otabek the space to sit himself up.

“Gonna take those off?”

“Soon,” says Otabek. He’s breathing heavily now, wetting his lips; normally pale, the same colour as his skin, they’re pink and full now, and Leo can only imagine what was going on up there while he was having his fun.

“I know you’re good at getting impossible things done,” says Leo, easing his fingers down the side of Otabek’s straining cock, “but you  _ definitely _ can’t ride me with all this on.”

“I could try.”

“Babe.”

“Okay, okay.” Otabek laughs and unfurls himself from the bed just long enough to shed his trousers. Seconds later, he’s back on top of Leo, boxer briefs still on, and the sight of him bared like this is the push Leo’s cock needs to start filling out again. Leo takes a hold of it and starts to stroke, long, bold strokes; and as he brings it up, that sinful pleasure he can almost taste, sweet and thick as caramel, he reaches up and runs the back of his knuckles over Otabek’s length.

“Let me?” he asks.

Otabek nods, and as he bends down and ghosts his teeth over Leo’s jaw, Leo lets go his own length to hook back Otabek’s underwear and enclose his hand over Otabek’s cock. He can feel the blood flow, that frenzied warm weight, and he eases his thumb up in a slow arc. Atop him, Otabek shudders.

“Oh  _ god, _ Leo—”

Leo grins and starts to move his whole hand, to coax Otabek ever closer. His own fingers are calloused from years upon years of playing guitar, and between that, how he always runs a fraction hotter than Otabek, and his hands being big enough to span eleven notes on a piano, he  _ knows _ he has handjobs down to an art form. It’s always fascinating, and weirdly thrilling, to see how quickly controlled, composed Otabek comes apart when he sets to work twisting up and over his cock.

It makes his whole body warm knowing that Otabek trusts in how he will unravel him, and how he will put him back together again.

Rocking up to meet Otabek’s lips again, he takes a hold of his own length again and starts to move both of them in unison. He tugs Otabek lower, closer to him so he can bring their cocks closer together. The friction is electrifying, and he basks in it.

“Lube?” whispers Otabek, almost a whine where he’s pressed against Leo’s cheek, and it takes several breaths before Leo can respond.

“Yeah, good idea,” he says; and even so, for several long moments after, Otabek stays where he is, as Leo thumbs round the warm, soft skin at the base of his cock. 

“Babe? Babe, you—mmph—you gotta get it, I dunno where it is,” Leo says, when it appears Otabek has no intention of moving of his own accord.

“Right. I’m—hold on,” says Otabek, with his eyes closed, and so much like he’s holding something in that Leo truly cannot tell who he’s saying it to. But he does move, and Leo gets the most glorious view of his body, flushed and heaving in the low light, all the way down to his scarlet, swollen length, already beading with precum, that beautiful sheen.

Once the lube is out, things move much more quickly, and Leo takes to stroking his own length and coaxing it back to dripping fullness as Otabek works himself open, balanced on his knees. It takes a while—Otabek tops more than half the time, and that aside, it’s been easily a month since they last had proper sex—but there’s nothing wrong with the show Otabek’s putting on: how his face is quivering on the brink, and the soft noises coming from his mouth, from his throat, from as deep as his heart, and the salty, sensuous smell of his cum in the air.

Leo eases down the bed when Otabek at last draws his hand away, and makes sure his own cock is slick over the condom before gesturing Otabek forward. Otabek braces himself on the headboard, and Leo takes hold of his thighs to gently, gently guide him down.

They could do this a hundred thousand times, and Leo will still never be used to the way it feels to have Otabek sink into him, utterly and completely. The heat and pressure is vice-like; encompassing, enthralling. It makes his cock throb, the pool of pleasure in the base of his groin sing. It isn’t intoxicating so much as smothering; like he can't get a breath in.

Leo cannot get over how good it feels.

For a couple of minutes, Otabek sits there, breathing heavily, and Leo lets go of his back to cradle his jaw in one hand.

“Babe, you okay?”

Otabek nods, and says, slowly, “Just… getting used to it. It doesn’t hurt, it just—”

“Feels weird,” they say, together, and Otabek lets out a laugh in time with Leo.

“I’ve gone down on you before, I  _ totally _ know what you mean. It feels great down here, but just come off when you need. I got you.”

“I know. I—I think I’ll try moving now, okay?”

“All good,” says Leo, running his thumb along Otabek’s jaw and squeezing, just enough that Otabek knows he’s there. “Just take your time.”

And Otabek does. He keeps his movements small at first, contained, and Leo moves his hand back round to the small of Otabek’s back to support him; and a few beats in, he starts to  _ lift. _ Otabek has strong leg muscles and immense jumping power, and Leo can feel every inch of his toned thighs engaged as he pulls up and presses down, again and again and again. It’s like wildfire, the way it spreads the pleasure through his whole body. He feels the sleek, sinewy pull between his hands as he keeps Otabek balanced in place, and arches his back as his cock strains against the pressure.

“Beka!” he gasps, clutching on tighter. “Beka, I’m—I’m close, I’m so close—”

“So am I—” says Otabek, wrenched from his throat—

And all at once, he lifts himself off, and takes both their lengths in one hand and clutches Leo’s in the other.

“I’ve got you,” whispers Otabek. “I’ve got you, Leo—”

And it’s his own name that sends him, and Leo keens into Otabek’s shoulder as he climaxes, hot and sticky into their intertwined hands and into a pleasure white and high and pulsing as it courses through his whole body. Seconds later, he feels Otabek come against his skin, and something firm presses against his hairline, and then lower down; and Otabek’s forehead against his own grounds him against the white lights as he rides out his orgasm.

Slowly, their breathing winds back in sync. Leo exhales his way through the last shaking vestiges of his pleasure, and Otabek’s breath comes cool and harsh against his upper lip until he sighs, long and slow, and Leo at last blinks open his eyes to see Otabek’s cheeks flushed deep and dark, and his eyes wide and soft.

“Babe,” Leo breathes, reaching up his free hand to stroke Otabek’s fringe back from his sweaty forehead. “Beka, that was so good.”

“All thanks to you,” says Otabek, soft and smiling, and they stay there a few seconds more, in the glow and heat of pleasure that still has Leo undone, laid bare, the closest to anyone else he can be.

But Leo has wants, and right now, coming down from this high, he desperately needs a cuddle. He reaches a little more, and Otabek’s face lights in recognition.

“Do you want to clean up first?”

Part of Leo wants to say no, so he can get Otabek in his arms sooner; but there’s cum on his stomach and round his groin and it’s the least pleasant thing in the world to wake up to.

“Make it quick,” he says—and to his credit, Otabek does, and not three minutes later he’s back in the bed, easing around to lie against the pillows. He reaches a hand round to tug Leo over to lie against his chest, and Leo moves to meet him there happily.

Except as he moves over, his ankle jolts against Otabek’s leg, and he can’t bite back a hiss as it throbs again.

“Leo? Is it your ankle?” Otabek’s concern is softer in his voice, in the warm air between them, but it still bleeds through, and Leo nods.

“It hurts,” he says, and it really does; the pain continues to pulse, even keeping it still.

“Did you take anything while I was upstairs?”

Leo shakes his head, and realises with a start that it’s been almost six hours since he last had an ibuprofen, all the way back at the rink before the gala performance started. Otabek’s brow crinkles, but his face is soft as he reaches up and runs a hand through Leo’s hair.

“I’ll be right back,” he says; and when he gets up, he grabs up one of the pillows from the headboard. “Can I touch it?”

“Sure,” says Leo, propping himself up on an elbow; and Otabek lifts his foot in the air very carefully, just long enough to slip the pillow underneath, so it supports his leg from the knee down. Leo watches him all the way until he disappears into the bathroom and sighs.

Otabek Altin is a wonder, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve him.

Once he’s taken the painkillers, Otabek settles himself back in, and they shift against each other, searching for that final, comfortable resting place. Leo shuts his eyes as Otabek sinks a little deeper onto the bed, and holds him close as he breathes him in. The air is heady with the salty scent of their cum, the sweetness lingering from Otabek’s hairspray, the heat rising from Otabek’s chest and his own as they lie together.

It’s quiet. Leo eases himself over a little more, and Otabek’s arm comes up to support him until his head is resting right below Otabek’s, close enough to hear his heartbeat. It beats in gentle time, steady below the skin:  _ one-two, one-two, one-two. _ Underneath him, Otabek’s chest expands and relaxes down, and Leo brings up one hand to draw circles over Otabek’s shoulder with his thumb, matching that same steadfast rhythm.

Otabek is always there to steady him when he falters or falls. Leo thinks on this sometimes, how Otabek shoulders the weight of his own nation every time he takes to the ice; not just here, before the world, but in their rink back home in Colorado Springs; and he has borne that weight for years, across continents, taken it to every corner of the Earth. And despite this, even on nights when it looks like it’s wearing at him, he gets up and soldiers on, and always has an arm ready for Leo to lean on.

He’s always happy to take Leo’s weight when they cuddle together, because he knows how much Leo likes the skin-to-skin contact, and the feel of another heartbeat beneath his own. He drives the car when Leo’s too tired. This morning, Phichit helped Leo across the ice to the rink gate after he fell and felt that sharp, terrifying pain through his ankle; but Otabek was there with a steady arm around his waist for the longer walk to the medics, and kept Leo’s mind above the sinking feeling that something really bad might have happened.

Sometimes, he thinks of how strong Otabek is, and has had to be for so long, and it leaves him weak at the knees.

“Where would I be without you?” he murmurs. The words drop soft into the air and hang there, heavy.

Below him, Otabek’s chest deflates as he lets out a soft  _ huh _ and lets out the sort of breath that sounds like he’s thinking, until, at last, he says, “Back at the banquet, I suppose.”

He sounds so contemplative, so serious, that Leo laughs out loud, and it rings through the room.

“Phichit would have me at a club by now, I bet.”

“Not if I took you out to one first,” says Otabek, teasing, and as both their laughter dies down, he hums, low in his chest. “But Leo… you’d still be here. You’ve made your own path this far, and—and I know you would be here without me.”

Leo wonders how true that might be. The truth is, he doesn’t know if he’s strong on his own. He gains his strength from his friends, his family, his fans: people who love him, who bring their own light and their own rhythms into his life. Otabek’s is one of the clearest.

Otabek doesn’t see the way people stand a little straighter and walk bolder when he’s around. Leo always strives to jump higher and step brighter on the ice, reaching every time towards those places where he will find Otabek flying.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, at last, because he has to say something; and this is true, at least. “I like it better with you here.”

Otabek is quiet, his breath soft, and slowly, gently, he runs his fingers up Leo’s back and brings them to comb through his hair. His fingers tug gently where his hair has tangled against the pillow, smoothing it all out, bit by careful bit. A firmer pull comes from the top, right where his hair-tie is, and Leo reaches up a hand to push his loosened bangs from his face only to find Otabek’s hand already there. He laughs, and curls his fingers into Otabek’s, and Otabek laughs too, and they tuck Leo’s hair behind his ear with fingers intertwined.

“I like it better with you here too,” says Otabek, words half-muffled over the crown of Leo’s head. “You know, I… I think, sometimes, about what I missed out on, growing up.”

Leo twists his fingers a little tighter between Otabek’s. He thinks about this sometimes, too, more now that he’s older and realises what Otabek gave up to chase his dream: he missed out on that one, simple act of growing up in a world that expected him to be already grown.

He thinks of how Otabek is strong and fierce out on the ice, with a will that could split mountains in two. How he jumps higher and further than anyone else; how he has always had to. He thinks of how, out there, trekking the width and breadth of the world, Otabek has mastered the painful art of being alone.

“But I also got to do so much, and see so much, and I—I got to meet you. I got to love you, Leo. I don’t think I would change that. I don’t think I’d want to change that.”

Leo’s breath catches in his throat, and he swears, for a moment, that his heart stops beating.

“People never believe me when I say you’re the romantic one,” he says, breathing out another laugh to stave off the tears pricking up behind his eyes. “I got so lucky with you.”

“Oh, Leo,” says Otabek, holding him closer. “I don't think—I—”

And he breaks off, and whispers something in another language against Leo’s hair. Leo can’t make out the words, but he can feel them, and their weight is like a caress, one that might push him off the edge of a cliff.

“What was that?”

Otabek pulls back, and Leo lifts himself to rest his chin on his arms on Otabek’s chest. His body feels heavier, his eyes even more so, but he blinks hard to keep them open in the lamplight. The flush is still swept across Otabek’s cheeks and jaw, and his lips are still pink; he exhales through his nose, soft, and it flares wide, but not tight and scrunched the way it gets when he’s concentrating so hard it looks like he could burst; and his eyes are dark and gentle and his forehead relaxed, and Leo wishes he could take a picture of this Otabek, right here, so beautiful.

“I’ll tell you if we’re both here next year,” says Otabek. He rests his hand on the back of Leo’s head as he thumbs back his hair, and smiles, wide and soft and glittering in the light. “It’s something good, I promise.”

“It’d better be,” says Leo, who smiles himself as he leans in for one last kiss, a brush of velvet and a sigh before he rests himself back down and closes his eyes. Otabek’s hold is a tiny, secure corner of the world, one that isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and Leo melts into him. It’s warm, and comfortable, and the heaviness is closing over him fast.

As he listens to the sleepy  _ one-two, one-two, one-two _ of Otabek’s heart, he remembers something, and curls his fingers into Otabek’s where they’re laced together.

“Happy anniversary, Beka,” he whispers. Above him, he hears a sigh that sounds like a smile.

“It is, with you,” Otabek says.

As Leo drifts off to sleep, it is to the sound of sweet breath through his hair, and a heartbeat steady as the pulse of waves in the ocean, and an arm wrapped firm around his waist, so close, like it will never let him go.

**Author's Note:**

> (If you were wondering: whatever Otabek whispered into Leo's hair was something along the lines of "I promise you: I'm the lucky one." He'll say it out loud in a language Leo can understand one day :'3 )
> 
> Many thanks to my writing house buddies, and especially Meg, Ceece, May and Gwen: for the sprints, for windmilling me on, for cheering on all the bonetown escapades, for reading this over and unanimously asserting that my working title should stay for the live version. I bake you all cookies in spirit :D
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/museicalitea) <3


End file.
